


Sting Like a Bee

by Kavern225



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bees, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bribery, Castiel (Supernatural) Works at Gas-N-Sip, Closeted Castiel (Supernatural), Closeted Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Chick-Flicks, F/F, F/M, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Makeover, Nerd Castiel (Supernatural), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Popular Dean Winchester, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-12-18 08:41:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18246335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kavern225/pseuds/Kavern225
Summary: Castiel Milton is a nobody who spends a majority of his time wishing he could be somebody. More specifically, somebody like Dean Winchester.Dean is everything a guy could wish to be. Popular, good looking, and all around perfect.When Castiel is Dean's unlikely hero in a sticky situation, Dean is eager to repay the favor. But at what cost?A 'Can't Buy Me Love' AU





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I have no business starting a new fic considering the fact that I can't follow a posting schedule to save my life and my other fic isn't finished yet...but hey. Here we are!
> 
> I watched Can't Buy Me Love a while ago and just couldn't get this story out of my head, so I decided to just go with it. 
> 
> Let me know what you think :)

Castiel James Milton was, as his brother Gabriel affectionatly reminded him almost _daily_ , a nerd.

Most days he didn't care so much. He didn't mind his thick framed glasses, especially considering they were pretty helpful when it came to, you know, being able to _see_. Also, so what if he didn't understand most of his peers when they referred to anything in pop culture? What did it matter if he understood movie quotes or what songs were on the local radio station’s top 40? Castiel would rather listen to his father's old Pink Floyd and Barry Manilow records over the new stuff anyday. And sure, he may have a bit of an unusual interest in bees, but who could blame him? Bees were such a pivotal part of the environment, and the fact that they could defy all scientific research on gravity by keeping their fat bodies in the air with undersized wings was absolutely beguiling to Castiel. 

 

Plus he found them quite adorable with their fuzzy yellow and black stripes.

 

But some days… Some days Castiel would be pulled from his books in the cafeteria by a chorus of loud laughter a few tables away and he would be reminded of just how vastly empty his own table was. The other table was always full and buzzing with life, much like the beehives he'd seen in the documentaries on TV. And just like those beehives, at the center of the table was always their Queen-or, in this case, a _King_.

 

 _Dean Winchester_.

 

Dean was the living definition of an Adonis. Everything about him was eye catching, from his high cheekbones to his almost feminine lips. His green eyes reminded Castiel of the luscious shade of the leaves on the apple tree that sat just outside his bedroom window. What really drew Castiel in were the golden freckles that were smattered across Dean's cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. 

 

Seeing Dean sitting surrounded by his friends, head thrown back in a full-bodied laugh, Castiel ached to join them. 

 

During Anna's last visit home from Stanford, she had asked him why he was sitting home alone, reading textbooks and watching the Discovery Channel on a Friday night instead of spending it at a party or something. Castiel had to explain, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks, that this was just how he spent his weekends, and he was was happy with that. He _was_.

 

“You should really try making some friends, Castiel,” she had admonished him. “Maybe even a girlfriend? You're already sixteen and I don't think I've ever seen you go on a single date.”

 

Castiel sputtered, trying to find words to defend himself, but when none came Anna shook her head, her almond eyes narrowed and calculating. “I don't get it. Sure, you're kind of awkward, you have a staring problem, and you couldn't take a social cue to save your life. You also dress like Grandpa Abel and it definitely wouldn't hurt to try and tame that hair-”

 

“Could you skip to the point, Anna?” 

 

“You're a decent looking guy, Castiel. I don't understand why you don't get out more. Getting rid of that trench coat you wear would probably help. That old thing actually _was_ Grandpa Abel's.” She said with a grimace. 

 

Castiel scoffed bitterly. He never understood why it all came so easily to his older siblings. Gabriel had been the life of every party before he had graduated a few years earlier and gone off to culinary school. Despite being bitingly sarcastic and the biggest troublemaker in Lawrence Senior High history, even the teachers couldn't help but adore him. All of the girls described him as adorable with his permanent grin and twinkling honey eyes, so dating was never difficult for Gabriel. 

 

Anna, much like Castiel himself, had excelled in all of her classes. Unlike Castiel, she had also excelled in after school activities and just about every social circle. The red haired teen had been unstoppable when it came to getting what she wanted. Class president for both junior and senior year, and later the valedictorian for her graduation the year prior- Anna was the definition of success. She had even been followed to California by her high school sweetheart.

 

It seemed to Castiel that their parents should have stopped after the first two kids. There just hadn't been enough good genes left to even him out. Chuck and Rebecca Milton would disagree, though. They were proud of all of their children, differences aside.

 

But sitting alone at his lunch table, Castiel couldn't help but wish he could be more like his siblings, even just a little. He would picture himself amongst the other kids, laughing and stealing each others fries, making plans for that weekend's party. Happy and surrounded by friends. Then the bell would ring and he would have to brush the thought away as he made his way to his next class, alone, just like every other day.

 

\---

 

“Why so glum, chum?” Meg asked from behind the register of the local Gas-n-Sip as Castiel walked in. On anyone else, the phrase would sound friendly or genuinely curious, but Meg was neither of those things. 

 

Meg Masters was snarky, brutally honest, and oftentimes quite vulgar, but she was also just about the only person Castiel considered a friend, despite her being a few years older than himself.

 

She went back to picking at the black nail polish on her fingernails as Castiel joined her behind the counter, shrugging on his blue vest. “Have you seen my name tag? It wasn't by the time clock again.” 

 

“Sure haven't, Clarence.” Meg shrugged and reached under the counter to pilfer through the odds and ends basket, coming out with a clip on tag between her fingers. She held it out to him, smirking. “Use this, he's never here anyway. You can be the new and improved Steve.”

 

“I don't want to be Steve.” Castiel muttered, choosing to take the high road and not start the ‘my name isn't Clarence’ argument for what would have been the third time that week. Meg had taken one look at him his first day of work nearly a year ago and immediately took to calling him Clarence, claiming he reminded her of some character from an old movie he could never remember.  

 

Meg moved forward anyway, slipping the needle through the front of his vest and attaching it securely. “Steve doesn't even want to be Steve. Seriously, who goes through nine months of hell just to tear their vagina open pushing out a head the size of a melon only to look at their pride and joy and name them _Steve_?”

 

“Don't be vulgar,” Castiel scolded her, turning to the register as a little old lady came up with her items. He set about scanning her jar of vicks and entering the codes for her bananas and, ever appropriate for the current conversation, a cantaloupe. After reading out her total he glanced over at his friend. “Besides, I'm sure it's actually short for Steven.”

 

“Like that would be any better,” Meg rolled her eyes.

 

“I named my youngest son Steven, and I'll have you know he is a very handsome young man. Quite popular with the ladies!” The old lady said, yanking her change and receipt from Castiel's hand and shuffling away with her bag as she muttered something about ‘kids these days’. 

 

“You're going to get written up again if you keep upsetting the customers.” Castiel stated, pushing his glasses back up his nose. 

 

Meg scoffed, “Nora can't fire me, I'm family. Dad would get pissed if he found out his sister kicked her niece to the curb.”

 

Before Castiel could start in on his routine lecture about morals and taking advantage of familial ties, the bell on the front door twinkled to alert them of a new customer. Every word he was about to say died on the tip of his tongue as he zeroed in on Dean Winchester standing in the entrance, backpack slung over his leather clad shoulder and looking almost...Nervous? No, that couldn't be right. What would Dean Winchester have to be nervous about? He was definitely paler than usual, his shoulders hunched as if he didn't want to be noticed.

 

Dean's eyes flicked over to where they stood before he turned and ducked out of sight down one of the aisles. Castiel watched him go, wishing he could work up the nerve to go after him and ask if he was alright.

 

A set of fingers snapped in front of his face, pulling him to attention. “Earth to Clarence!” Meg said, her tone coy, “is that bow-legged beauty a friend of yours?” 

 

Meg was one of the few people in Castiel's life that knew he had an interest in men, the only other being his online friend Charlie, whom he had never actually met. He'd gotten to know Charlie when she had taken him under her metaphorical wing on their favorite online game, Moondoor's Quests. She had been open from the start about her sexual orientation. “It's boobs or nothing for me, Castiel. They don't call me the queen of moons for nothing!” Her honesty had made Castiel feel secure enough to share his own secret. He had never been able to find the appeal of a woman, his eyes drawn only to broad shoulders and fine bowed legs. One set in particular…

 

When it came to his family, he was fairly sure they would be accepting. Gabriel especially, since he had always been especially open to different lifestyles. What really made Castiel nervous about coming out was the fact that he was already so different, he didn't want to give everyone one more reason to alienate him. The LGBTQ community was basically nonexistent in Lawrence, Kansas, as far as Castiel was aware. The people around here were more conservative and quick to judge anyone who was the slightest bit different. So Castiel kept his head down and his interests to himself.

 

“What? No.” Castiel said quickly. He may have been out to Meg, but he was still hesitant to talk about it, even to her. “No, he just goes to my school. Doubt he'd even recognize me.”

 

Meg hummed knowingly, “But you want him to. Don't bother denying it, I could see the hearts in your eyes from a mile away, lover boy.”

 

“I don't know what you're talking about..” Castiel said stiffly, turning away to reorganize a gum display. “And I certainly did not have ‘heart eyes’.”

 

“Look,” Meg said, tone serious enough to pull Castiel's attention back to her. “Unless you want to be a nobody for the rest of your life, you need to put on your big boy pants and make a move. You know why none of them notice you? Its because you radiate fear. You're afraid, and you hide away in your little trench coat shell and content yourself with watching everyone else live. What are you so scared of?”

 

Castiel bit at the inside of his cheek to fight the quiver in his chin. Meg had exposed him for what he really was-a coward. He had never felt so _seen_ , and it definitely wasn't a good feeling. It was enough to make him want to cry with embarrassment for being so obvious. Did everyone realize he was basically a cowering idiot? As for what he was really afraid of, he wasn't even sure. What _was_ he scared of? Rejection? Being laughed at for daring to think he had a chance at being one of them? Going through all the trouble of trying only to fail when they found out that he really _wasn't_ like them? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that the thought of even approaching anyone at that lunch table had his guts twisting up inside of him and a cold sweat beading on the back of his neck.

 

“It isn't like that, Meg.” Castiel sighed, “I'm just… I'm nothing like them. It comes so easily to them, being popular. I'm awkward, and I can barely hold a conversation without freezing up and spouting ridiculous fun facts that no one asked for.”

 

“Well for what it's worth, I think you're pretty cool, and so are your fun facts. Without you, how else would I have learned that a flock of crows was called a murder? They're my favorite animal now.” Meg said, her chocolate eyes warm and her face fond as she looked at him. Castiel knew she meant it, too. Meg didn't hand out compliments often, and never without truly believing them herself. Finally she gave her shoulders a quick shake, grimacing. “Alright, that's enough of that. Feel like I need to go steal candy from a baby or something to rid myself of residual ‘fluffy feels’.”

 

A single pack of spearmint gum was dropped on the counter in front of Meg's register and they both looked to find Dean fidgeting on the other side of the counter, one hand gripping the strap on his bag tight to his side. 

 

Meg raised an eyebrow, looking him over as she scanned the gum. Her eyes lingered on the bag behind him, looking a bit fuller than it had before Dean had started his shopping. “You sure this is all you need to pay for?” 

 

Dean's jaw tightened considerably, the muscle flexing as he swallowed. “Yes, I'm sure.”

 

“Mind showing me the inside of your bag there, sweet cheeks?” She asked, unconvinced.

 

Dean's gaze flicked over to Castiel uneasily, his face flushed, extenuating the many golden freckles that dotted his lovely face. He moved to pull the bag off his shoulder, eyes trained on the floor as he pulled a sleeve of smushed wheat bread and a jar of off brand crunchy peanut butter out, setting them on the counter. 

 

“I should call the cops on you for trying to steal,” Meg said, tapping her nails on the counter as she considered it.

 

Dean looked up then, his face flickering between first horror and then pure rage, and he opened his mouth to go off on her, but before he could get a word out, Castiel found himself saying, “No you shouldn't!”

 

They both looked at him as if he had two heads. Meg was the first to ask, “And why the hell not?”

 

Castiel knew he had a bit of money stashed in the back of his pocket. Money he usually kept there so he could stop at the cafe down the street after work to get some hot chocolate for his walk home. Not much, maybe a ten, but more than enough for the items Dean had placed on the counter. 

 

He pulled the bill out and pushed it toward Dean, “I saw you drop this when you came in. You must have just forgotten you put those items in your backpack, correct?”

 

Dean stared long and hard at the wrinkled bill dangling from Castiel's fingers, expression closed off. Finally he sighed, defeated, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, guess you're right man. Thanks.” 

 

He reached forward to take the bill and Castiel's breathing stuttered when their fingers brushed. He pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned and watched silently as Dean slid Meg the money and accepted the change and receipt in return. The moment the transaction was finished he swept the food off the counter and back into his bag, turning to make a mad dash out of the store without wasting another glance in Castiel's direction. 

 

“And you didn't think you could make a move.” Meg scoffed as soon the door clicked closed. She quirked a dark brow at him “How very knight in shining armor of you.”

 

“That was hardly a good move,” Castiel argued, “he was mortified. He'll probably avoid me forever now.”

 

This earned him an eye roll from his friend. “Don't be so dramatic. You did him a favor, and guess what? Now he owes you.”

 

The realization made Castiel pause. Technically a favor was repaid by returning said favor, that much was true. Even so, he couldn't imagine actually going up to Dean and telling him so. And just what would he ask for? Popularity? Something so big couldn't compare to a measly ten dollars. Dean would just laugh in his face. Maybe even punch him, too.

 

“Just think about it, Stevie.” Meg said before sauntering into the back room for her break, leaving Castiel alone to do just that.

 

\---

 

John still wasn't anywhere to be found by the time Dean reached home, not that he expected anything different. The food in his bag felt like a ton of bricks on his back, his cheeks still hot with residual embarrassment. He couldn't help but curse aloud at his old man for putting him in this situation. It wasn't anything he wasn't already used to, though.

 

John Winchester was rarely around, usually on the road looking for any job he could find that would pay enough to get him drunk and send his boys just enough to survive off of. It had been that way ever since Dean was tall enough to reach the stove. Usually Dean was pretty good at budgeting what little money they received, plus he worked whenever he could at his uncle Bobby's auto shop. Unfortunately, their lifestyle left little room for surprise expenses, which was why, when his little brother came home waving a permission slip around in excitement, Dean knew he was well and truly fucked. 

 

Despite the fridge and cupboards being bare, Dean just didn't have the heart to tell Sammy no. The kid's puppy dog eyes didn't help, either. Sam was a smart kid, smarter than the average twelve year old, that was for sure. Hell, he was smarter than Dean, not that that was hard to believe. His little brother worked his ass off at school, getting perfect grades in every class. 

 

Samuel Winchester was really going to make something of himself one day. Actually _be_ someone. Dean was going to make damn sure of it.

 

That was why when he showed Dean the slip for a field trip to the science museum three towns over, a reward exclusive to the honor roll students for all their hard work, Dean didn't hesitate to hand over their last twenty for the fees and sign John's name on the dotted line.

 

Which was how he found himself in his current situation. He had no idea what the weird kid at the gas station was playing at covering for him the way he had. Dean was resolved to hunting the boy down at school tomorrow to find out what he needed to do to keep his mouth shut about it all. The last thing he needed was for him to tell everyone just how pathetic Dean really was, stealing food from a Gas-n-Sip. 

 

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework when Dean dropped his bag on the counter, pulling out the food. 

 

“Hey kid,” Dean said, drawing the boy's attention. Sam shoved his brown locks out of his eyes to look at him. When was the last time the kid had a good haircut? “Didn't have time to get any real groceries before my shift, so I just got sandwich stuff to tide you over. I'll get more soon.”

 

“Sure thing, Dean.” Sam said, smiling easily at his older brother. That was the thing about Sam. He accepted his brother's words at face value. He didn't know any different. He never knew the extent of how hard Dean worked to keep food on the table and the lights on, and for that Dean was grateful. Sam didn't deserve to be handed such a raw deal in life, so ever since he had been shoved in Dean's arms all those years ago, Dean strived to make things as easy for him as possible. 

 

Sam had never known any other life. He had only been a baby, six months old, when Mary died in a house fire. For Dean, things were different. He knew what he was missing without their mom around. Hot meals he didn't have to cook or buy himself, softly sung lullabies at bedtime, and always knowing there was someone there to make sure he was going to be alright. Sometimes he was jealous of his brother's blissful ignorance. Most of the time, though, he was more than grateful to have had at least four peaceful years with his mother.

 

Sam pushed his books aside as Dean came to the table bearing a stack of sandwiches. Dean ate quickly as he listened to his brother ramble on about random school assignments and a cute girl from his English class whom he'd been assigned to do some group project with. Dean filed this little fact away to give him shit for on a later date, noticing the blush on Sammy's cheeks as he mentioned how smart he thought she was.

 

Shoving the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth, Dean jumped up from the table, wiping his hands on his jeans as he went. “Gotta get going,” he said before swallowing, “won't be back till about ten. Keep the doors locked, don't open it for anyone you don't know, and-”

 

“Keep my phone with me just in case.” Sam finished for him, rolling his eyes. “I know, Dean. You don't have to give me the same lecture every time you work. Besides, I'm not a kid anymore, I can take care of myself.”

 

“Dude, you're twelve. You _are_ a kid, and like it or not, it's my job to watch out for you.” Dean bit out, trying to swallow down the fear that Sammy was right and maybe, just maybe, he didn't really need him anymore. Before Sam could argue further, Dean snagged the keys from the counter and dashed out the door, careful to lock it behind him. 

 

He slid into the seat of the ‘67 Chevy impala his dad had handed over to him for his sixteenth birthday. Giving Dean the car had been just about the best thing John had ever done for him. He and Sam had basically grown up in the backseat, having travelled all over the country in it until they had been old enough for John to leave behind. To Dean, the impala felt more like home than the rundown bungalow they currently lived in. The car had seen better days, that was for sure. Dean wished he had the extra money to spend on his Baby's upkeep, but as it was, the interior leather was cracking in several places and the car's black paint was so dulled it could have passed for a smokey gray rather than the sleek black it had once been. Luckily, working at Bobby's auto shop allowed him to at least keep her tuned and running smooth between jobs.

 

Starting the car he glanced at the dashboard to check the fuel level and sighed, twisting the key to turn the car back off. The only downside to Baby was that she was a gas guzzler. Luckily Bobby's was only about a five mile walk and the evening was warm. Dean got out, pulling his oversized leather jacket, another hand me down from his dad, around him and started his trek to work.

 

\---

 

Lawrence Senior High wasn't a huge school. It wasn't even especially _big_. So why was it proving to be impossible to find Gas-n-sip boy?

 

Dean had checked every person that had come into every single one of his morning classes with no luck. He had looked through the hallways between periods, searching for a mop of unruly dark hair within the crowds, and nada. By the time lunch rolled around, Dean was beginning to doubt the boy's existence.

 

He hadn't heard a word of what was being said around him, not that it really mattered. His ‘friends’ never talked about anything important. It was always football, cheerleading, parties, and who was hooking up with who. Most days Dean didn't really mind the monotony. It was actually kind of relaxing, having no surprises. Not having to _think_. But some days he had to bite his cheek to keep from screaming of boredom. Don't get him wrong, they weren't _all_ bad. Benny was probably his best friend, and Lisa was pretty cool when it was just the two of them. 

 

He and Lisa had been a thing for a few short months Sophomore year, but they'd quickly figured out they were better off as friends. Lisa was interested in long term, and wanted more attention than Dean had been able to give her between work and taking care of his brother. The split had been amicable, but even so they were still a source of gossip and rumors throughout the school. Everyone seemed to believe there had to be more to the story.

 

As far as Dean was concerned, they could all eat dicks.

 

“What's got you so spaced out?” Benny asked from beside him, drawing his attention away from the cafeteria entrance where Dean had been focusing on, intent on catching Gas-N-Sip boy coming in. No success yet, of course.

 

Dean gave Benny an easy smile, “Nothing, man. Worked late last night, just tired.” It wasn't really a lie. His walk home had him getting in later than usual. Plus the time it took him to scrub off all the grease and at least make an attempt at his homework, Dean hadn't gotten to bed until nearly one am. His alarm had him up at six to make sure Sam was up, showered, and fed in time for school.

 

Benny looked doubtful but didn't push, turning back to Gordon to talk about the last weekend's game. Dean turned back to the doors but knew it would be extremely unlikely that he'd see the boy now. Most everyone that came to the cafeteria to eat had already come in and taken there seats by then. 

 

Most of the tables were full, the moving bodies and waving arms making it difficult to see any faces. Dean was close to giving up and accepting his fate when his eyes landed on one of the emptier tables in the farthest corner, a familiar head full of dark disorderly hair was bent over a thick textbook. 

 

Dean jumped to his feet without much thought, his chair scraping loudly behind him, and everyone at his table stopped talking to look at him expectantly. He flushed and cracked a smile, “What? Can't a guy go use the john without being stared at?”

 

He got a few chuckles out of them, though they eyed him warily for a moment longer before going back to their respective conversations. 

 

Dean weaved his way around the table, dodging chairs and trays until he reached the boy, seemingly unnoticed. He pulled out the chair across from him, dropping into the seat, and cleared his throat. The boy still didn't look up at him, apparently too absorbed in whatever the hell he was reading.

 

Dean took a moment to get a better look at him. He was wearing what looked to be an old trench coat, which ok, _weird_ , but otherwise he was actually kind of a good looking guy. Thick glasses rested precariously on the end of his nose, and Dean had to silently chastise his brain for immediately remembering his favorite sexy librarian video that was his go to source for getting his rocks off. He wasn't going there, especially under such embarrassing circumstances. 

 

He leaned forward until he was only a few inches away and cleared his throat as loud as he could. The boy jumped, glasses almost falling off his face before he could shove them back up his nose, and looked at Dean with wild eyes. And his _eyes_. Had they been so blue the day before? Dean must have been too wrapped up in his nerves to have gotten a good look at the guy because now he could see that Gas-N-Sip boy wasn't _just ok_. He was down right _hot_. 

 

Which no, Dean definitely wasn't going to go there. Dean Winchester didn't do dudes.

 

He didn't realize how long he had been staring when the boy had cleared his own throat, fidgeting in his seat. “Can I help you?”

 

“You kind of already did,” Dean said, narrowing his eyes. “Now the question is, what do I need to do to make you keep your mouth shut about it?”

 

The boy tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy, brows scrunched together in a way that Dean refused to find cute. “I have no idea what you mean, why would I say anything?”

 

“I dunno, man-”

 

“Castiel,” the boy interrupted.

 

“Gazuntite,” Dean said, confused by the nonsense that had come out of the boy's mouth.

 

He rolled his eyes at Dean, “that wasn't a sneeze, that was my name. Castiel.”

 

“Casteel...Cassiel…” Dean mumbled, trying to sound the complicated name out before giving up with a sigh, “Cas. Look, you did me a solid back there and I would feel a hell of a lot better if you'd just let me return the favor somehow. Tit for a tat.”

 

“Cas-tee-elle.” Cas enunciated, not that it mattered much to Dean. His nickname was set and there was no changing his mind. “I'm not sure what you could possibly do for me. Anything I need is worth far more than the ten dollars I loaned you. Maybe you could just pay me back at some point?”

 

Dean did the mental math in his head of what bills his next check from Bobby's would be covering and what would be left, not liking the outcome. He didn't bother figuring in anything from John, considering he had no idea when, or if, it would be coming. 

 

“Look man, money is pretty tight. I dunno when I'd be able to do that.” Dean admitted, “what is it that you want that you don't think is worth it? I don't even care what it is, as long as you ain't wanting my kidney or something.”

 

Again with the head tilt, “Why would I want your kidney?”

 

Now it was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. Had this guy never heard of a joke? Looking him over again, he decided that he probably hadn't considering how stiff and on edge he looked just by Dean taking to him. “Forget about it, Cas. What can I do for you?”

 

Cas bit down on his perfectly plump bottom lip as he thought it over, and Dean pretended not to think about how it would feel to bite it himself. “I...It will sound stupid.” 

 

Dean shrugged. He'd heard a lot of dumb things over the years, he doubted anything Cas would say could top any of it. “Lay it on me, man.”

 

“You're extremely popular,” Cas stated, moving to close his textbook, clasping his hands together over the cover. “I, obviously, am not. I'd like for you to help me be more like, well, you.”

 

Nope, that definitely topped the list. “You want to be like me?” Dean sputtered, “Why the hell would you want to be like me?”

 

“Why wouldn't I?” Cas said like it was obvious, “You're the most well liked person in this school. You're smart, friendly, and the perfect example of what it is to be ‘cool'."

 

“Did you really just do air quotes, dude?” Dean couldn't believe this guy. What was this, She's All That? “You've got me all wrong, man. You don't even know me.”

 

“Everyone knows you, Dean.” Castiel said solemnly.

 

Dean was good at putting up a front, making sure that no one really knew what his life was really like. Obviously he did a pretty good job of it, but the assumptions got pretty annoying. It seemed like everywhere he went, people were sure they knew everything there was to know about Dean Winchester. Even at home he couldn't be totally honest, considering he didn't want Sam to know just what he went through. He was so _tired_ of hiding.

 

“Just because you know my name and you've seen me around school doesn't mean you know shit about me. I'm far from smart, and I know most people only like me for my looks.” Dean ranted, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Plus, last time I checked, I tried to steal from the freaking Gas-N-Sip. What kind of a role model does that make me?”

 

Cas eyed him critically, looking him over as if he were hoping to find the answer. Finally he shrugged, “I'm sure you had your reasons for what you did.”

 

“Whatever man. The answers no, I can't help you.” Dean pushed out of his chair, ready to head back to his table when a hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist.

 

He turned back to the table to find Cas practically sprawled across the tabletop to reach him, his pretty blue eyes wide and pleasing. “I can make it more fair,” he said, his voice surprisingly firm. “I've been saving up for a car, but that can wait. I've accumulated roughly a thousand dollars. It's yours if you agree to help me be more like you.”

 

Dean yanked his arm away, his head spinning. A thousand dollars would be the safety cushion Dean had always wished he and Sam had. He'd be able to buy real food, _good_ food. Maybe even do some of the touch ups on Baby he'd been dreaming about. But…”No. You're crazy, no way.” He practically growled before storming out of the cafeteria, his neck burning under Castiel's gaze the whole way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I've got a lot going on so my posting will continue to be very sporadic. I admire all the people on here that can commit to a posting schedule. I aspire to one day have my life together enough to be one of them. Alas, right now, I am not.
> 
> So bare with me!
> 
> Also, I find I have literally no one in my life that shares my love of Supernatural, so if you're interested in being my fandom buddy I started a Twitter fan account (which is completely dead right now because I suck at social media lol). Follow me @Kamisha_23 and let's be friends! 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! Thanks for reading 🙂

After the horrendously embarrassing lunch, Castiel spent the rest of his day in a daze. For the first time in his life, he pushed his homework aside when he got home and immediately jumped on to the computer in his room, hoping his favorite queen was online. He discovered with a relieved sigh that Charlie's username did, in fact, have the ever present green dot beside it.

 

He didn't have time to click into a new conversation before the chat screen popped up with a new message from his friend. 

 

 **RedQueen** : _Do my eyes deceive me? Is Castiel actually online before he's taken hours to do his homework? What happened, the school burn down? Teachers go on strike?_

 

 **AngelOfThursday** : _Ha ha. No, I actually needed to speak with you. It's somewhat embarrassing, though._

 

 **RedQueen** : _I'm all ears, big guy. I promise not to laugh._

 

 **AngelOfThursday** : _I did something very foolish today. Remember the boy I helped at work? Well he found me during lunch today and wanted to return the favor, but couldn't afford to just pay me back. I may or may not have offered him more money with the intention of having him teach me how to be popular._

 

There was a suspiciously long silence.

 

 **AngelOfThursday** : _You promised not to laugh._

Another screen popped up and Castiel suddenly found himself staring at his own image. He rolled his eyes and accepted the video call, his monitor filling up with bright red hair and Charlie wiping tears from her eyes as she trying to stop laughing. 

“I-I'm,” she flapped her hand at Castiel's unamused frown, “I'm sorry but you are just too much, Castiel.” 

He rolled his eyes, hand moving the mouse to the end button. “I'm hanging up.” 

“Wait!” Charlie yelped, sobering up. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed. But Castiel, do you really think that'll work? This isn't some teenage rom-com. You don't just whip off your glasses and suddenly everyone wants a piece of you. Though I dunno why they don't want a piece of you _now_. I may be a full on six on the kinsey scale, but even I can see you're a dream boat.” 

“It doesn't matter, he said no.” 

Charlie pouted at the camera, “Well that's lame. Why not?” 

“He didn't think he was the right kind of person to teach me,” Castiel shrugged, “he seems to believe he isn't a good role model.” 

“Well he did try to steal from you,” she pointed out. 

“He brought that up as well,” Castiel sighed, leaning back in his chair. He was beginning to wish the earth would just open up and swallow him whole. The more he thought about his conversation with Dean, how desperate he made himself seem, the more he felt the burn of shame deep in his gut. He should have known better. He was sure everything Dean said was just him trying to find an excuse, _any_ excuse, not to help him. He probably knew Castiel was already a lost cause. 

“You with me?” Charlie snapped her fingers at the screen, drawing Castiel's attention back to her. 

“Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking, asking Dean to help me. I should have known it wouldn't do any good.” He admitted, looking anywhere but at Charlie. He heard her suck in a breath, ready to go on her obligatory ‘you're too good for them anyway’ spiel, which he knew wasn't true. Charlie meant well, he knew, but he just wasn't in the mood to be lied to. He interrupted quickly, “I really should get to my homework. Thank you for listening, Charlie.” 

She huffed, eyeing him for a moment before she acquiesced. “Fine. Still on for Moondoor Friday night?” 

Castiel agreed easily and clicked out of the chat, dropping his head onto the desk with a groan. 

_\---_

Castiel kept his head down all morning, praying to any God that would listen that Dean hadn't told everyone about his ridiculous request. As the morning wore on and everyone continued to ignore Castiel as per usual, he heaved a grateful breath. 

Maybe this was how Dean had decided to even the score?  Castiel keeps his mouth shut and in turn Dean wouldn't mention anything, either. That was more than fine as far as Castiel was concerned. By lunch, he sat at his usual table and pulled out the book he'd been working on, not even giving himself a moment to glance around the room like he usually would. If Dean was here, he didn't want to risk the green eyed boy catching him looking. 

Unfortunately for Castiel, for the second day in a row the chair across from him squealed against the linoleum floor as it was pulled out, and he winced at the increasingly familiar _thump_ of Dean Winchester dropping into the seat. 

Reluctantly, Castiel lifted his eyes to meet narrowed green, and he fixed his glasses on his nose with a trembling hand. “Hello Dean.” 

“Look, I know what I said yesterday, but…” Dean skipped over any pleasantries, looking down at the table as his cheeks flushed, “is your offer still open?” 

“My...offer?” Castiel said dumbly. He definitely hadn't been expecting Dean to be asking about the offer, and he felt like his brain had short circuited in shock. 

Dean rolled his eyes, “Yea, _Godfather_ , it seems it was an offer I can't refuse.” 

“You….huh?” 

“Cas.” Dean drawled, leaning forward and looked Castiel in the eye so he knew he had the boy's attention. “I'm accepting the deal. A thousand bucks in exchange for popularity.” 

A noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeal slipped out of Castiel's mouth and his face burned red. “Great! When do we start?” 

“Hold up, cowboy.” Dean held up his hands, “Gonna need the money up front. I'll come to your place after school, look through your clothes. First step is gonna be to stop dressing like you're eighty, dude.” 

“I'm afraid I don't have any clothes aren't like...this,” Castiel admitted, plucking at his sweater with a small smile. He happened to like it. The knit was warm and the soft green stripes was proving to be one of his favorite colors. 

Dean sighed, “Then I guess I'll pick you up, take a field trip to the mall for some new stuff. Gimme your phone.” 

Castiel scrambled to pull out his phone, dropping it into Dean's outstretched hand. He watched as Dean tapped at the screen before his own phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. Passing Castiel his phone, he pulled out an older model, it's screen shattered in one corner, and did something on that one as well. 

“Now you've got my number,” Dean said casually and Castiel felt a thrill buzz through him. He had _Dean Winchester's phone number_! “Text me your address. Gotta run home, take care of a couple things first. I'll come pick you up around five?” 

Castiel nodded quickly. With a curt nod, Dean pushed himself up and meandered back to his own table. 

The contact list was still pulled up in Castiel's phone, and he quirked a small smile seeing Dean's name there. His list was so small, mostly just made up of family and Charlie, you didn't have to scroll down to see all the names, but soon… _Soon_ it would be flooded with the numbers of all his friends. All thanks to _Dean_. 

_\---_

After dropping Sam off at home with the promise of real groceries upon his return, Dean gassed up the impala with the few bucks he had left and headed in the direction of the address Cas had texted him. 

Benny and some of the other guys had invited Dean to hang out later, knowing it was one of the few, rare days that he didn't have to work. He'd felt bad turning them down, explaining that he had a ‘ _thing_ ’. Benny had looked suspicious at his vague excuse, but thankfully he didn't push the issue. 

How Dean was going to explain the sudden appearance of Castiel Novak in their group, he had no idea. Some of the other guys had made passing comments about him over the years, something about how freakishly quiet the dude was, but nothing _too_ mean. He could only hope they'd keep an open mind and not ask too many questions. 

Yeah, he wasn't going to hold his breath. 

He pulled baby to a stop in front of a large brick colonial and pulled his phone out, fingers poised to send Cas a text to let him know he was here but the passenger door swung open before he could even get the chance. The guy had to have been waiting by the door since he got home from school. 

“Hello Dean.” Cas said in his surprisingly deep voice. It always kind of shocked Dean to hear him speak. He'd always expected something more...timid. 

He grunted a hey in response and pulled away from the curb as Cas buckled up. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the boy reach out, running his hands over the dash. “You're car is lovely. It's a classic, correct?” 

Maybe he wasn't so bad if he was actually interested in baby. “Sure is. ‘67 Chevy Impala. My dad bought her shortly before I was born, gave her to me for my birthday last year.” 

“Her?” And there was the confused little head tilt. 

“Baby is a lady, Cas.” Dean patted the leather steering wheel gently. “Someday I'm gonna fix her up, give her the shine she deserves.” 

Cas scrambled for something in the pocket of his weird trench coat, pulling out a folded envelope. He slid it across the seat SO dean could grab it, shoving it in his own coat pocket. The whole exchange felt oddly wrong. “That reminds me, I have the payment you require for our agreement. Are you going to use it to fix up ‘Baby’?” 

Dean snatched the envelope and shoved it deep into his pocket, shooting a scowl at Cas. “No, doesn't matter what I'm gonna use it for. You got enough money for the clothes?” 

Cas nodded in affirmation, posture stiff and nervous as he turned his wide blue eyes to the window. He stayed quiet the rest of the ride, the radio playing quietly in the background, which was fine by Dean. Gave him time to really think about what he was doing. 

What _was_ he doing? Sure he could put Cas in some decent clothes and maybe show him a thing or two about pop culture to help the poor guy out of his perpetual confusion, but could he really get him the popularity he craves so much? What happens if he fails? He hoped Cas wouldn't expect his money back. 

Dean glanced over at the other boy. Cas had started to relax a bit in his seat, watching the buildings and other cars fly by as they passed them. He was even tapping his fingers against the leather to Pink Floyd's _Take it Back_. 

Maybe Cas wouldn't be such a lost cause after all. 

_\---_

Dean led Cas inside the crowded mall, debating in what store to take him to. He usually bought his own clothes from the thrift store on the other end of the mall, but that was just for lack of funds. He decided to take Cas to the same place he went when he was able to get Sam some decent jeans. 

The men's section was, thankfully, a lot less busy than the rest of the place. Dean didn't really feel like having too many witnesses for their game of ‘Dress up the Nerd’. 

“First things first,” Dean announced, stopping by a rack of dark wash jeans. “We need to find you pants that are neither khaki nor reach your belly button.” 

“They're comfortable, Dean-” 

“Don't matter,” Dean interrupted, shoving through the hangers as he tried to find a few different options in Cas’ size. “These are pretty comfy too, if you get the right kind. Sometimes it's hit or miss, but that's what the dressing rooms are for.” 

He unceremoniously dumped a pile of jeans into Castiel's arms and grabbed him by the shoulders, turning and directing him to the dressing rooms in the back corner. Just outside the rooms were a few black leather ottomans, a row of tall mirrors across from them. 

Dean dropped onto the middle seat, twiddling his thumbs as he waited for Cas to come out in the first pair. He was tempted to pull up some dumb stereotypical makeover montage song on his phone, seeing as he had apparently been thrust into one by mistake. This whole thing was like a less royal version of the _Princess Diaries_ , which Dean totally didn't mean to watch. It wasn't his fault Sam and Jo had left it on after they disappeared to work on some dumb project. He totally didn't purposely watch it while he chilled on the couch. He just hadn't wanted to look for the remote. 

“What do you think of these?” Cas asked as he stepped out of the fitting room. Dean's mouth went dry as he watched the boy twist and turn to get a better look at himself in the mirror. The dark wash denim clung to him like a second skin, accentuating surprisingly thick thighs and a nicely rounded ass, which _hello, where have you been hiding_? 

“-not so bad. They're actually fairly stretchy, and complimentary to my form...Dean?” 

Dean's jaw clicked as he closed his mouth, how long had he been gaping? “Uh, yeah. They um, they look good, Cas.” Dean assured him, “Should probably get a least two more pairs. Try on some of the lighter blue pairs. They're more casual. Better for school. The dark wash can be dressed up for parties or, uh...For dates.” 

 

Cas’ face screwed up in distaste, “I'm not sure I'll be going on many dates.”

 

“Why not? Once we get you some better shirts to go with the jeans, I have a feeling you're gonna be catching a lot of eyes, Cas.” Dean admitted. “I could even set you up with someone. Daphne, or maybe April.”

 

This seemed to be the wrong thing to say, judging by how fast Cas’ face paled. Dean pushed himself to his feet and moved to clasp the boy on the shoulder. “Cas, you don't gotta worry. I'm not about to throw you to the wolves. I know you're not exactly ready to wine and dine anyone yet. Once I get you cleaned up, show you the ropes and what not...You'll be a regular Casanova.”

 

The tightness of Castiel's muscles under Dean's hand made it obvious the boy wasn't entirely convinced, but he nodded along anyway. He shuffled back into the fitting room to try on some more jeans. Dean meandered through some of the tracks, grabbing random shorts that looked similar to his own style. A few flannels, a couple nicer button up shirts, and a handful of tees. 

 

By the time Castiel and Dean had assembled a decent wardrobe it was nearing dinner time. Sam had told him earlier he would be eating at the roadhouse with Jo so they could finish up their project. Aunt Ellen, adoptive aunt that is, was a godsend. She always made it clear her boys were free to eat there whenever they needed a real meal which, of Dean were honest, would be every night. He never stopped Sam from taking advantage of the offer, but he rarely did himself. Freebies were too close to charity in Dean's book, and Dean Winchester did _not_ take charity from anybody. Family or not.

 

Even so, Dean found himself asking “You got plans for dinner tonight?” Imagining taking his new protege to the Roadhouse, getting him to try one of Ellen's to die for double bacon cheeseburgers…

 

“Yes, my brother will he joining us for a family dinner tonight,” Castiel said, his smile fond. “I haven't seen him in a few months. He's a bit of a handful, and he torments me relentlessly but I find I miss him when he's gone anyway.”

 

Dean put on a smile and pushed down the disappointment. It wasn't a rejection, not really. “That's cool, Cas. Guess I better get you home then.”

 

By the time Dean had dropped Cas off, ordering him with the task of texting him what he planned to wear the next day so Dean could sign off on it, and pulled into his own driveway he was starving and exhausted. It had started to get dark outside, and the lights were all off inside. Part of him always hated coming home to an empty house. He imagined Cas sitting at a big dining table laden with pot roast and all the fixings, his parents on either end and his big brother across from him. It was a nice image.

 

He walked inside and flipped on a light, coming to a stop in front of their own dining table. It was an old, worn shell of what it used to be. The varnish had worn thin through years of spilt beer and hot plates, watermarks and scratches scattered across its surface. One leg was wobbly, an old car magazine folded up and shoved haphazardly under it for ‘stability’. The chairs were all mismatched thrift store finds.

 

He tried to think of the last meal he'd shared with both John and Sam at that table and found he couldn't remember a single time that it had happened. John wasn't the type to sit down with his sons and ask about school. When he was home he was more concerned with taking the grocery money to the bar down the road and hassling Dean about being more useful. 

 

Dean decided he was no longer hungry and flicked the light back off, heading off to bed where he would toss and turn until Sammy got home safe.


End file.
